The forest air was crisp that morning, laced with the scent of damp earth and pine. Dew still clung to the edges of the leaves, sparkling like tiny stars in the soft light filtering through the canopy above. We stood at the fork of a narrow dirt path—one trail veering north, following the steady trickle of a stream, and the other dipping south, into thicker woods that seemed darker and less traveled.
"Let's go south," I said, breaking the silence.
El turned to me, her green eyes narrowing. "Why?" she asked flatly.
I shrugged, not entirely sure how to put the feeling into words. "Just… gut feeling," I offered, my voice quiet but firm.
"Really?" she repeated, crossing her arms. "You're suggesting something that might get us killed because of a feeling? Have I mentioned this realm isn't friendly? What we saw yesterday was just a Fodder Beast—fodder, Lee. There are lesser monsters out there, and worse—Beasts. Big ones. Deadly ones. I say we follow the stream north. It's safer. Predictable."
She had a point. The stream had always been a traveler's guide, often leading to nearby settlements or clearings. But there was something about the southern trail—something unspoken, almost like a tug in my chest. Like the road was waiting.
I looked at her, trying not to sound defensive. "I don't know what it means either, El. But this… this feeling won't go away. And for some reason, ignoring it feels wrong. Dangerous, even."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Matthew, who had been sitting on a mossy rock fiddling with his shoes, stood up and dusted himself off. "Let's go south."
El turned to him, surprised. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Look, it's not that I don't trust you, El. I just trust Lee's gut more." He gave a small shrug, as if that settled the matter.
El let out a loud tsk and ran a hand through her golden hair, the floral kerchief barely holding it in place. "Fine," she muttered, clearly annoyed. "But let it be known—if some beast tears your gut open because of this brilliant idea, I'm not saving it."
Despite her irritation, she fell into step with us, boots crunching over fallen leaves as we headed toward the unknown.
And though I said nothing, I knew one thing for sure.
Something was waiting for us in the south.
Something we needed to find.
We packed up—or, well, pretended to. Who was I kidding? We didn't have much to pack. Just a few things El had hidden in her coat and a bundle of twigs Matt insisted might be "useful." Still, we set off south.
The walk lasted for hours. We kept the conversation light—jokes, random thoughts, and observations about strange bugs and oversized leaves. The terrain was wild and uneven, but when we stumbled across a clear river, we took the chance to drink from it, cupping the cold water in our hands. It tasted cleaner than any bottled water back home.
Later, we came upon a broader river, perhaps connected to the previous river we were at, its surface slow-moving and glinting under the sun. It looked like it fed into a vast network of waterways stretching beyond the trees. We decided to rest there, letting our legs breathe and our minds settle after the long trek.
We didn't have the time or means for a proper bath, but we cleaned ourselves as best as we could, splashing water over our bodies and scrubbing the parts that needed it most.
El kept her distance, a few feet away from Matt and me. Of course, we weren't fully naked—just stripped off our tops to rinse off. El, of course, stayed dressed.
As Matt and I were cleaning up, I noticed El glance at us. For a moment, she stared—longer than usual—but quickly brushed it off and looked away.
"Where did you get that?" she asked after we were done.
I was confused at first, then realized she was looking at my chest—or more specifically, the necklace hanging around my neck.
"This?" I touched it lightly. "It's from my parents. That's all I have left of them."
"Can I take a look?" she asked.
I handed it to her. She examined it closely for a few seconds, her face unreadable. Then she handed it back and gently tapped my shoulder.
"Never show it to anyone."
I nodded, a little thrown off but trusting her instinct. I didn't ask why.
While resting Matt, of course, couldn't sit still for five minutes.
He was halfway up a tree before I noticed.
"That's dangerous. What are you doing?" I called up.
"Just want to get a better view. Chill, I'll be careful," he shouted back, already high above us.
El and I waited, staring up, but the branches were thick and leafy. He vanished from sight in seconds.
"Matt? How's it looking?" I yelled, trying to squint through the green blur.
A beat of silence. Then, "I'm at the top!"
We waited for more.
And then his voice came again, louder this time—part awe, part fear. "I can see everything. It's… insane."
From his perch, Matt saw what we couldn't. An endless sea of forest stretched out in all directions, no cities, no roads—just nature. Untouched, untamed. It hit him, the same way it hit us earlier: we were in the middle of nowhere.
And then… he saw it.
Something flying in the distance. Small, because it was far off—but far too large to be anything ordinary if it was still visible from here. It had vast, leathery wings and a long, pointed beak. More of them followed—smaller, probably young. Like something out of a museum, a prehistoric display was brought to life. It was like a dinosaur—but not quite. Not exactly.
He made his way down slowly. A few scrapes, some muttered curses.
By the time he touched the ground again, El and I were already waiting.
"Well?" I asked. "What did you see?"
"Trees," he said. "A lot of trees. Oh, and a freakin' dinosaur flying around to the north."
I blinked. "Ha ha."
"No joke."
"Wyverns," El chimed in calmly, almost too casually. "They're harmless—unless provoked."
I stared at them both. I honestly thought Matt was messing with me. But El? She sounded dead serious. I had to accept it—again—that we were somewhere entirely… else. Like Narnia or some fantasy world—but real.
"I also saw smoke," Matt added. "Far south-west. Could be people."
El frowned. "Could be a village. Could also be bandits."
We all exchanged a look.
"But we won't know unless we check it out," she added. "If we're lucky, they'll help us."
"And if we're not?" Matt asked.
She didn't hesitate. "Then we might get sold as slaves. Simple as that."
Gulp.
Still, we had a direction now. So we pressed on.
The next two days were grueling. We walked for miles, rested when we had to, hunted when we could. El taught us basic survival stuff—how to hold a knife, how to track animals, where not to step. Matt picked it up fast, being the stronger of us two, but even he couldn't win a sparring match against her. Not yet.
Not that he minded. Judging by how much he grinned every time El pinned him to the ground, I started wondering if this was really "training" for him or just a fantasy come true.
I tried not to judge. Much.
El didn't share much about herself, even during those long nights by the fire. But she spoke more about Antares—the creatures, the lands, the dangers. Never personal stories, though. She held those tight. I didn't press. Not yet.
I had a feeling she'd open up, in time. I just had to wait.
By the second afternoon, the endless green finally broke. We crested a low rise, and before us stretched a wide, open plain—man made, without a doubt. Fields. Flat, cultivated, golden with harvest. The air even smelled different—less wild.
We stopped, just to stare. After days of trees and underbrush, the sight of level ground was surreal.
Then a voice broke the moment.
"Well now. Three younglings wanderin' out of the Jura Forest. That's dangerous business, lads."
The accent was thick, old-fashioned, and came from just below us. We turned to see a hunched old man looking up from the slope, his spine curved from age, maybe in his sixties or seventies.
We hadn't even noticed him. The place where we stood was slightly elevated, and we'd been so distracted by the view that we missed the figure down the slope.
And just like that, we were in his home.
The warmth hit us the moment we stepped inside.
Not just from the fire—though that helped—but from the feel of the place. Cozy in a crooked, creaky kind of way. The floorboards groaned under our weight, and the scent of herbs and something meaty drifted from the pot hanging over the fire.
The old man's hut was simple, made of rough-hewn wood, with a straw roof and a stone chimney puffing gentle smoke into the air. It had two floors—the upper one little more than a loft accessible by a rickety ladder. No railing. No privacy. Inside, a fire crackled beneath a heavy iron pot that smelled like stew.
"You ate, younglings?" he asked kindly. "Come now. I've prepared lunch."
We hesitated. But the man's tone was warm, welcoming. And rude as it might've been to refuse—our growling stomachs had already made the decision for us.
The old man moved slowly but with a practiced grace, ladling thick stew into three mismatched wooden bowls. He set them on a table that looked like it had been dragged here from a tavern a hundred years ago.
"Sit, sit. Don't be shy," he said
Matt sat first, already sniffing the bowl like a bloodhound.
I glanced at El. She nodded faintly—meaning no obvious danger yet. That was enough.
I sat.
"So…" I began, unsure how to even ask, "you live out here alone?"
"Aye," the old man replied, settling onto a stool made of a tree stump. "Been tendin' these fields since before your parents were born, I'd wager. Name's Tavon."
"I'm Leo," I said. "That's Matt. And she's El."
"So, what's your story, lad? Any reason you three were wandering in the middle of Jurra Forest? Dangerous place, that. Especially for young ones like yourselves." Tavon leaned back on his creaky stool, eyeing us curiously over the rim of his cup.
We looked at each other in silence—waiting to see who would speak first… or if we should say anything at all.
Then, without missing a beat, El answered.
"Traders," she said, plainly.
Tavon's thick eyebrows rose. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," he muttered with pity, shaking his head.
"Traders?" I whispered under my breath.
Matt shrugged mid-chew, clearly unconcerned and still enjoying the food like it was the best meal he'd had in years.
El, keeping her composure, continued with practiced boldness. "We came from the border of Quintera, heading to Livero. But along the way, we were caught by bandits. They planned to sell us as slaves, but we outsmarted them and escaped."
Her voice was steady, but I saw it—a single bead of sweat rolling down her temple.
Tavon didn't respond at first. He merely watched us with an unreadable expression, then turned his attention to a basket of dried roots near the hearth.
"I may be old," he said, voice low and gravelly, "but I was once a veteran soldier of Solis. And if there's one thing I learned from facing criminals and deserters alike… it's that they can't lie in front of me."
The air thickened.
El's hand quietly moved behind her back where her knife was hidden. Matt tensed beside me. I sat up straighter, alert, ready for… something.
Then the old man burst out in a wheezing laugh, slapping his knee.
"Relax! I'm long retired. And besides—this isn't the first time I've met a lost one."
"A… lost one?" I asked, loosening the knot in my chest.
"Aye," Tavon nodded. "It's written all over you. The clothes, the speech, the awkward way you look at everything. Either you're from one of the Great Houses—though I doubt that—or you're not from Antares at all."
We glanced at each other again. Busted.
Compared to Tavon's roughspun tunic and well-worn boots, our jeans, hoodies, and sneakers practically screamed "otherworldly."
"Forgive us," El said, clearing her throat. "But we had to be cautious. If the wrong kind of people knew we were lost ones…"
"You'd end up chained in a slaver's caravan by dawn. Aye. Smart of you to lie." Tavon gave a small smile, eyes twinkling. "You know your stuff, lass. You from around here?"
There was a pause.
"...Yes," she said at last.
He didn't press her. Just nodded.
"Well, you're safe here," Tavon said, standing up slowly. "But Livero, you say? That's quite the journey."
He shuffled over to a nearby shelf, rummaging through a pile of rolled-up scrolls while muttering to himself. "Now where did I put that blasted thing…"
With a grunt of satisfaction, he returned to the table, brushed it clear with a sweep of his arm, and unfurled a large, weathered map across it. Dust rose into the air like ghosts of time, dancing in the sunlight.
"This," he said, carefully smoothing out the creases, "is the continent of Freilands."
We leaned in, drawn to the sprawling parchment like moths to flame.
The map revealed three massive continents.
On the left, labeled in a faded script, was Freilands—a wild, rugged expanse dotted with names and symbols we didn't recognize. Tavon pointed as he spoke.
"Freilands. That's where we are. A vast land made up of the Traders' Land, the deadly Dune Expanse, the kingdom of Walnedonia, and of course, the Jurra Forest."
His finger shifted to the right side of the map.
"This," he continued, "is the continent of the Great Houses. Four powerful kingdoms rule there, each with its own banners, armies, and politics. It's far more structured than the Freilands. Noble lines, minor houses, all vying for control."
Between them, in the center of the map, was a straight landmass that separated the two giant continents.
"And that's the Grand Council"
"It's neutral territory," El said quietly, as if remembering something. "No kingdom dares claim it. All major decisions, trade regulations, and disputes between Freilands and the Great Houses are settled there."
Tavon nodded approvingly. "The Grand Council isn't ruled by kings or queens, but by old power and silent influence."
Then he tapped a point near the top edge of Freilands. "This is where we are. Edge of Jurra Forest, close to the border of Walnedonia."
His finger glided south—across rivers and forests, past the edge of the map's seam, skimming over what looked like jagged mountain ranges and open sea—until it stopped on a distant mark at the opposite continent.
"And this... this is Livero. Deep in the land of the Great Houses."
A heavy silence fell over us.
"You mean... we have to cross an entire continent—and an ocean—just to get there?" I asked, unable to mask the disbelief in my voice.
"By foot," El muttered grimly, "and by sea."
Matt let out a long, low whistle. "Well... crap."
Tavon chuckled, low and gravelly. "Indeed. It's not a path for the faint of heart."
I stared at the map. Mountains like scars across the earth. Seas like gaping mouths. So many unfamiliar names. So many unknown dangers.
This world was so much bigger than I thought.